<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>PH One Shots by hontueri</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390094">PH One Shots</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/hontueri/pseuds/hontueri'>hontueri</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys &amp; Sophism (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Kieran’s hair is practically its own character, Light Angst, One Shot Collection, simp kieran</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-04</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:42:22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,781</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27390094</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/hontueri/pseuds/hontueri</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>I’ve decided to release these out into the world. Will probably update sporadically whenever I get inspiration. These are just snippets of some scenes for the 56849768k fanfiction in my head that I wanted to type out. I write these in like two seconds and don’t really proof read so 🌝✌️</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lauren Sinclair &amp; Kieran White, Lauren Sinclair/Kieran White</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>75</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Sick Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Kieran is sick. Lauren is suspicious of it.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Lauren hated seeing him at work. She hated that he caused her sleepless nights at home, and now stressful days around her friends. She hated his neatly tied ponytail, his stupid-looking glasses, the way he was all Kym talked about anymore. Lately, her problems all seemed to revolve around him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which is why she snapped when he tried to talk to her about faking Lune’s death after her shift.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just deal with it and go away as soon as possible, Kieran.” Having said that, she turned to calm her irritation before she headed home.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He stood, watching her walk away, until it started to pour.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“Poor Kieran,” Kym sighed, draping herself over her desk. “He sounded so tired and miserable and sad and lonely. Should we get him a get-well-soon basket?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How could you even hear all that through the phone?” Will plopped a small file on her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It must be a psychic connection. Fate! I feel his suffering as if it were my own!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, what happened to Kieran?” Lauren glanced at the two as she arrived at her desk. Kym leaped up, the file soaring and smacking Will’s face. His trembling fingers grasped it, an exasperated look in his eyes as he tossed it onto her now empty desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Lauren!” She wrapped her arms around her neck and leaned on her. “It’s truly tragic! Our new precinct prince has called in sick. Said he caught a cold from the rain yesterday. I knew he must be the sweet and sensitive type, but who would have thought it would be physical, too?!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>That’s odd, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Lauren thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I can’t imagine someone like him laying weak in bed. And he was fine yesterday. </span>
  </em>
  <span>This behavior was suspicious, and she felt a new wave of stress fall over her as she tried to imagine his possible schemes. Her friend continued to gush over their new co-worker’s perceived perfection, ignoring the pleas from Will to get ready for patrol.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Lauren left the precinct as soon as her shift was over, which she knew her friends would find odd, but she’d thought about the infuriating assassin the entire patrol and she knew she’d have to go talk to him to quell her anxiety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her run to the cave was full of flooding images of what had transpired the last time she’d been within those walls. Reaching the metal gate, she hesitated. How would they react, seeing each other in this setting again?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Stop it, Lauren</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You have bigger things to worry about than a little bit of awkwardness.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet when she went inside, her former partner was nowhere to be found.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kieran?” Her voice echoing through the cave was the only response. Her mind raced with alternatives. If not here then where? The streets? Taking another assassination order from the Phantom Scythe?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paused. His apartment?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If he was really sick, he’d likely be at his apartment. An image of him, feverish and unwell, flashed before her eyes. She didn’t think it was true, but what if something was really wrong? Now that she thought about it, he was likely the target of many in his profession. Many other assassins must be seeking the favor of the leader. Or—</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For a second she couldn’t breathe. She hadn’t dared to consider it, but of course it was a possibility.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Did the Phantom Scythe figure out that he’s Lune?</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Goddamnit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she’d even asked them to, her legs led her towards the direction of his district.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Now that she was here, she had no idea what to do next. Trying to calm herself, she took a deep breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard a crash from inside, right as she held her hand up to knock, and stiffened. Maybe someone had come to get rid of the evidence. Of his body. She rapped her knuckles on the door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kieran?” She called out. “Are you home?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More crashing, this time the sounds coming more frequently and closer to the door. She stood, tense, preparing herself to come face-to-face with his executioner. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Her </span>
  </em>
  <span>executioner. The doorknob turned and she instinctively closed her eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“...Lauren?” said the Purple Hyacinth, very much alive. “What…”—his voice was too weak, and he cleared his throat—“What are you doing here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took him in, and understood how presumptuous she had been. Kieran White stood in front of her, not the Purple Hyacinth. He leaned heavily on the doorframe, face flushed and eyes unfocused. His usual messy bun was nowhere to be found, and his loose hair fell onto his neck and shoulders. His bangs hung over his eyes, sweaty strands clinging together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you been poisoned?” she asked, and he looked at her in bewilderment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? No. Lauren, why are you here?” Her own face reddened, realizing all her wild thoughts and worries had been for nothing. He really was sick. Unable to answer, she pushed past him into his apartment.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You weren’t at the cave.” She forced apathy and nonchalance into her voice. “I thought you’d died or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The cave?” He radiated shock, and confusion, then—was that guilt? He seemed to gather himself, closing the door behind them. He threw himself down onto his sofa, hands reaching up to push his hair out of his face, his half-buttoned shirt shifting to reveal—were those bandages? He’d obtained more injuries since she’d last seen him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His face lit up in realization, and he gave her a familiar cheeky grin, but it seemed to take more work than usual to tilt his lips upward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Were you worried about me, officer?” His sentences were lazy, and he sounded absent-minded, like he had to put in a conscious effort to remember which words to use.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You look like shit, Kieran.” He huffed at that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You still haven’t answered my question.” And she meant to. She really did. She didn’t know why her next words came out the way they did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kym said you were sad and lonely.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He gave her the same look he did when he’d first opened the door. Then his eyelids lowered and he threw his head back on the sofa, laughing, the noise tired and raspy and somehow endearing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did she now?” He beamed. “And you’ve, what? Come to fix that?” He laughed again, the situation unbelievable and amusing to him. He clutched his stomach, and she didn’t miss the slight flinch as he chuckled harder. Lauren sighed, sitting herself down beside him, and pressed her hand to his damp forehead. He definitely had a fever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Have you taken any medication?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you going to nurse me back to health?” She started to tear her hand away.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m not going to do </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>—” He snatched her wrist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then why are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Lauren?” Her name sounded different in his sickness. He </span>
  <em>
    <span>said</span>
  </em>
  <span> it differently, like it soothed his sore throat. And she was terrible at hiding the way it affected her, really. She must have been so obvious with her reactions. That must have been why he kept using it against her. “I’m not going to stop asking until you answer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d read somewhere that blue flame was the hottest. His eyes were hazy, yet they still scorched her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s, uh, none of your concern.” She couldn’t tell why she kept avoiding it. She could just tell him the truth, that it was all his fault for making her think he was faking, or off killing someone, or—</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span> Dead.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>He leaned into her side, his nose brushing against her jaw as he whispered, “why did you come see me...” He paused, his voice unnaturally soft, and far too close to her ear for her liking. “Lauren?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why haven’t you asked me to leave?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head was heavy and fully supported by her shoulder, now. He sighed, his breath hot and slow, the warmth of it making her skin tingle. His silence made her think she’d caught him. He’d pushed her into a corner, so she would just push back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m sad and lonely.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe it was the sleep deprivation, or the fever. But when she pushed, he let her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>Kieran didn’t remember falling asleep, but he woke up to a cool, wet cloth on his forehead. And a tranquil-looking officer at his bedside.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” he rasped. “So it wasn’t a dream.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you get injured?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>I tripped.</em>
  </b>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m serious, Kieran.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <b>
    <em>So am I.</em>
  </b>
  <span>” His eyes twinkled with more amusement at every lie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You remember that I hear lies, yes?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And yet, if I told you the truth you still wouldn’t want to hear it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was the back-and-forth game they played. He’d let her in sometimes then push her away. He’d tell her he’s lonely but not the reason why. He’d pull her close to him but not make the final move. And she humored all of it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I thought you were faking when you called in sick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured that much.” She sighed at that, an unspoken apology stuck in her throat. They stayed there together, the soft light of the moon reaching them through his bedroom window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay.” Lauren said.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, let’s talk about Lune.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Cold Hands</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kieran is almost vulnerable. Almost.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>The messenger was stern, on the verge of anger. The leader was getting impatient with him having made no progress on finding Lune.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do not get cocky, Purple Hyacinth. Your missions are not games for you to kill time with. If I have to, I will make sure to give you a reminder of what happened last time you tried to resist.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kieran’s breath slowed. “Yes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As I’m sure you remember, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you’re </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who begged for—”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, I understand. You don’t have to say it.” His response was brisk, and from her hiding spot Lauren realized the messenger was saying something he didn’t want her to hear. He uttered the next words like a curse. “I’ll...behave.”</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>They walked down the street in silence, neither of them ready to acknowledge whatever had happened back at the rendezvous point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A small banging noise filled the air, and her partner immediately dragged her into the nearest alleyway. Every muscle in his body was tense, and he held her waist as firmly as he could without hurting her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A stray cat traveled from the location of the noise, moving on from the trash can to find food elsewhere. She peeled his hand off of her mouth and spun around to face him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, what the hell? Why are you so jumpy?” His expression was unreadable, and he didn’t have an answer for her. She then jumped right into the topic he’d been so carefully avoiding with his silence. “What was that messenger talking about, Kieran? What did he mean by, ‘the last time you tried to resist?’”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made a movement somewhere between a shift and a flinch. He reminded her of a stray dog she’d seen on patrol a few days ago. Kym had tried to get close to it despite Will’s warnings, and it lunged at her the second it felt cornered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She waited for him to snarl at her, to snap, to push her up against the wall and knock the breath out of her, to catch a glimpse of the monster she kept expecting to see.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead he seemed to fold into himself, trying to make himself smaller but he was all long legs and broad shoulders and he would never achieve such a goal. His lengthy, thin fingers dove deep into his hair, undoing a few strands from his low bun and he sighed. His breath came from deep inside him, as if he was trying to expel all his insides through one lungful. She had never seen a monster so tame.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She started to ask him again but the look he was giving her shoes stopped her in her tracks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stop, Lauren. Just drop it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Please</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” No, not tame. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Timid</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she said. “Okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she didn’t know why, but her eyes kept gravitating toward a lock of hair his hands missed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t press. No personal questions.” He didn’t answer, and she wasn’t sure if he even heard her or not. He was somewhere else, now, and she wondered if maybe he’d gone back to whatever place the Phantom Scythe had taken him to years ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The dark lock of hair caught her attention again, and this time she didn’t stop herself from brushing it back, fingers almost caressing his face like his had done to her in the cave so long ago. She almost felt his hand around her neck again, but calmly brushed the memory away when she noticed the shift in his demeanor. That wasn’t the man in front of her now, the one who had truthfully promised never to bring her harm again. He was back, now, from wherever his mind had drifted, and he was looking at her with awe, like she had done something brilliant.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now that’s an image worth recreating,” he murmured, barely audible. His shoulders lost their tension, and she didn’t understand the sudden urge she had to press her palms on them. She wanted to make him smaller, she thought. Less intimidating. Then, no, she wanted to feel the way he could still keep himself up with all of her weighing him down. She’d always considered his strength an obstacle to her, but now it felt like safety.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She realized with a start that her actions had mirrored her thoughts without her permission. His coat was unexpectedly thin under her fingers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Rather than pull away from her grip, the assassin leaned forward and pressed his forehead in between her neck and shoulder. His hair brushed against her cheek, and it was much softer than she’d thought it would be. Although, she couldn’t recall when she had imagined such things. She felt the warmth of his breath on her collarbone through her shirt. He kept his hands off of her, crossing his arms at his stomach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Neither of them understood why the other had chosen to do what they’d done, and yet both of them could tell: this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>something, </span>
  </em>
  <span>and it wasn’t entirely dreadful. All Kieran knew was that he liked the pressure of her hands on his shoulders, grounding him, how he could almost taste her perfume on the tip of his tongue. And Lauren liked the red tint of his ear on such a cold night, the smooth caress of his dark strands as the wind carried them to her skin.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His apartment was closer, so they stopped there first for hot tea and a discussion of their investigation by the fireplace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At some point she noticed the door that she’d tried to open the night she’d slept over. She wondered if it was still locked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s behind that door? Is it some kind of creepy torture chamber?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kieran let out a deep laugh, and she noticed that his voice had sounded raspier since they’d left the alleyway, their hands intertwined in his warm pocket. Neither one acknowledged its presence the entire walk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that’s enough tea for you. It’s getting late and this supply was supposed to last me the entire week. </span>
  <b>You’ve become a burden to me now.</b>
  <span>” </span>
  <span>He swiped her almost-empty mug, gathered her things and unceremoniously shoved her out the door. In one of his coats, of course. He couldn’t let her walk in that kind of cold with her flimsy dress coat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why are you in such a hurry to get rid of me, subordinate?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused before he’d fully closed the door, and smiled softly without making eye contact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Because I’m afraid I might show you what’s behind that door if you stay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the door was closed and she found herself trying to decipher his words the entire way home.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Weakness</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>A little bit of spice. Just for flavor.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>She always thought he would be first. From the moment she realized he wanted her, she kept expecting him to yield before her, to ask for her company, to concede his pride for the good of them both.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could see it in the way his shoulders stiffened when she came too close, the way he froze when she stood on her toes to whisper something in his ear on a mission. They were stuck in limbo, the two of them dancing around each other endlessly with stolen glances and questioning remarks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the impatience that finally did it, an exasperation she didn’t even realize was growing until it bubbled over her carefully crafted pot of restraint. It was a final, frustratingly suggestive comment he made while rinsing the dishes in his apartment that made her say,</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Then why don’t you just go for it already?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A loud clattering noise came from the sink. He turned the knob, shutting the water off. The silence that ensued was suffocating. For once, the assassin was rendered speechless, but he gathered himself quickly, his unnatural laughter dismissing her query. This was the closest either of them had ever been to acknowledging their issue, but it was an unspoken rule to leave it unmentioned. So far, they had both followed it with a loyal endeavor. He reached to run the water once more, shaking off his slip-up, before her voice made him forget his task altogether.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m serious. If you’re so great, so charming, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘devilishly handsome,’ </span>
  </em>
  <span>why don’t you ever make any real moves on me? If you really find me that attractive, why don’t you do something about it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched him stutter from where she sat at his table, unable to come up with a proper answer for her, unable to tell if she was joking or in an especially bad mood that night. He felt an ache in his midsection, anxiety at the possibility of their charade finally coming to an end. Nervousness gripped him fiercely. He wasn’t ready to let go of the shield of pretend obliviousness yet. He practically winced when he heard the squeak of a chair, followed by her footsteps coming dangerously closer and closer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing?” His voice was too small, so he repeated himself, this time a little too loud. “Lauren, what are you doing?” The question held too much weight. This wasn’t excitement, but panic. This was it. They’d have to do away with the pretense, now. And all because his impulsive partner in crime couldn’t bring herself to pretend another day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Come on, Kieran.” She was right at his back now, making it harder to ignore her and focus on the dishes. He mouthed, </span>
  <em>
    <span>stop, </span>
  </em>
  <span>unable to form the word audibly, helpless at the realization that she couldn’t see the movement. “How long are you going to keep flirting with me?”</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As if you don’t flirt back, </span>
  </em>
  <span>he almost said. Instead he stayed silent, holding onto his last bit of denial a little longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She touched the side of his arm, the fabric of his rolled-up sleeve wrinkling underneath her fingers, her other hand lightly gripping a fold at his back, the pressure barely there, but they both knew what it meant. She rested her head slightly on his shoulder blade, the action a more honest declaration than any racy phrase they’d ever uttered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She never thought she would be the first to confess. And she didn’t expect his response to be so hesitant.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t like to put his hands on her often. She knew it was the lingering guilt, had seen the way he looked at her neck when he was feeling particularly self-loathing. She could feel the rein he kept on himself now, a harness preventing him from turning around and offering her assurance of his reciprocation. He remained silent and unsure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You want me,” she whispered into his shirt, insecure.</span>
</p><p><span>“</span><em><span>Of</span></em> <em><span>course</span></em><span>.” It slipped out before he had a chance to filter his thoughts. She did that to him effortlessly. Sometimes he wondered if her ability was limited to hearing lies, or if she had an additional power to entice truth from him.</span></p><p>
  <span>“I want you, too.” An exhale through his nose at her words, such simple sentences that left his ears ringing with anticipation.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thoughtlessly and breathlessly, mind unoccupied except for the burn of her fingertips, he said, </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More awkward than she’d ever seen him, his usual audacity nowhere to be found, he cringed at himself, and at her resulting mirth. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know this is a bad idea.” She glided her hands on him, silencing him, the rest of the protest dying on his tongue, pressing her palms deeper, touching his skin through fabric, and that night she made an astonishing discovery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah.” He was so pliant in her hands. So obedient. So willing.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>From then on, she liked to find his buttons, his weaknesses, one by one. She stayed at his apartment more often, borrowing books from his shelves, tasting his surprisingly good cooking, finding moments in between the investigation and the stress of the world around them to enjoy the small luxuries. She saw new sides of him that surprised her, an unexpected softness underneath that rugged exterior.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And every time, she would find an excuse to lay her hands on him. Taking his fingers in hers, running her palms over his shoulders, searing a kiss into the pulse of his neck. He never complained. He, such a touch-starved man, welcomed every action with relief—a shiver, an unconscious surrender. He leaned into her every movement like she was made of warmth and blissful consolation. Touching his face made him close his eyes. Hugging his neck made stiff muscles relax. Whenever he lay his head on her lap and felt her play with his loose black strands, he was asleep within minutes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On one particular night, it was revealed that pulling his hair made his breaths shallower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The action tore his lips from hers, breaths still mingling, his neck arched and his mouth parted, panting from the exhilaration of her, her, </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Compliant as always, he waited for her. She liked to make him wait, sometimes, while she enjoyed this docile side of the Purple Hyacinth that only she got to witness. She ran her fingers along his scalp and his eyes opened slightly, still half-lidded, fogged over in an adoring haze. His worshipping sighs were ceaseless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t help but smile at the sight, and give him what he wanted, shifting into a more comfortable position on his lap and further intoxicating him with her kisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Everything about the man suggested assertiveness. Now she knew. He was straightforward, yes, and capable. Strong. She’d expected him to be first, not accounting for the fact that he was also human. And now she knew just how to bring that humanity out of him.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lauren is a top, you guys. You can pry bottom Kiki from my cold, dead hands</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>:)</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>